


got the jitterbugs

by sporadichearttcollector



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Pre Canon, blood tw, copious swearing, drugged Andrew, this is nothing like what i usually write but i Wanted To
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 07:15:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19168399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sporadichearttcollector/pseuds/sporadichearttcollector
Summary: “Can you fucking quit it?” Aaron hisses, and Andrew doesn’t even consider trying to explain he can’t.Andrew can’t stop moving, can’t stop flying, the fucking pills have him higher than a kite, baked like a cake, oh cake sounds wonderful right now…The knife slides into Andrew’s hand from the hidden sheathes in his bands, and everything seems to go into slow motion. Andrew sees the widening of Aaron’s eyes, Aaron who is probably the only person in the room Andrew hasn’t threatened at knife point, but ignores it in favor of slamming the knife down into his own thigh.





	got the jitterbugs

**Author's Note:**

> insp: this [post](https://sporadichearttcollector.tumblr.com/post/185498596253/whatmack-off-the-meds-everything-was-darker)
> 
> specifically the thigh bit just fuckin had me and i had to write it
> 
> i wrote this in like an hour and its unbeta'd so lmk if you see any mistakes

          It happens during the post-practice defrief.

          Practice was, as usual, a complete fucking disaster. Kevin spends the whole thing screaming at everyone’s inadequacy, and things almost get physical with Seth not once, not twice, but  _ three fucking times _ , and Andrew actually has to bang his massive racquet againt the goal post to remind Seth not to lay hands on Kevin. Seth smartly backed off, probably still sporting bruises from the last time he dared touch one of Andrew’s things.

          Practice ends with everyone but Andrew frustrated and pissy.

          Andrew took his pill half an hour ago, and he is  _ soaring. _ The drug induced mania has his mouth stretched wide and his blood absolutely buzzing. Kevin is spitting fire about something Andrew doesn’t give a shit about, and even if he did Andrew can’t possibly focus on anything right now other than the way his heart pounds in his chest and he can’t seem to sit still. 

          Aaron is next to him, several inches of careful space between them but close enough he is getting steadily more irritated by the uneven bouncing of Andrew’s legs, shooting silent glares every couple of seconds. 

          Andrew watches Coach and Kevin get into it, cackling quietly at how both of their faces go such a bright red in their fury, and Aaron smacks at his leg.

          “Can you fucking quit it?” Aaron hisses, and Andrew doesn’t even consider trying to explain he  _ can’t _ . 

          Andrew can’t stop moving, can’t stop flying, the fucking pills have him higher than a kite, baked like a cake,  _ oh cake sounds wonderful right now… _

          The knife slides into Andrew’s hand from the hidden sheathes in his bands, and everything seems to go into slow motion. Andrew sees the widening of Aaron’s eyes, Aaron who is probably the only person in the room Andrew hasn’t threatened at knife point, but ignores it in favor of slamming the knife down into his own thigh. 

          It hits the outer part, skating past his bone and almost going all the way through. Pain flares from the injury, but Andrew can hardly feel it. Aaron flies out of his seat, shouting loudly to match the rest of the Foxes as they all begin to yell about his leg and  _ hospitals _ . 

          Andrew is too busy laughing, clutching his stomach and wishing for death, to tell them there is no way in hell they are taking him to a hospital. 

          “Andrew, what the fuck!” Aaron drops down to get closer, as though peering closer to the knife stuck in Andrew’s leg will change the fact it’s there. 

          “You wanted me to stop,” Andrew gasps out between manic giggles.

          “I didn’t mean to fucking stab yourself!” Aaron looks at him in horror, that way he always does when Andrew does something to remind him how fucked up Andrew really is. 

          “It was the only way,” Andrew shoves Aaron back, bursting into a whole new round of snickering when Aaron falls on his ass and gapes. Andrew wraps his fingers tight around the handle of the blade, knowing Abby is going to try scolding him for this later, and rips it out of his thigh. Blood slides out of the wound in rivulets, and Andrew briefly gets lost in how his black jeans get blacker, the blood spreading down like spilled ink. 

          Nicky rips off his coat, bundling it up and moving in to press the wad of cloth to Andrew’s leg, and gets shoved backwards hard for his trouble. “Don’t touch me,” the words tumble out without his permission, and the tiny sober version of himself that lives in the back of his head, the one that rolls his eyes and shakes his head at all the idiotic things his drugged body pulls, tries to reason that everyones going to be fucking annoying until he gets his leg treated.

          Andrew ignores it, shoving Nicky harder when he tries again and flipping the blade into his hand. “Don’t touch me.” The smile is gone from his face, his laughter briefly subsided, and the room is silent but for Nicky’s sobs. 

          “Just let us help, you’re bleeding, for fucks sake.” Aaron says, holding out a hand to help Nicky up from his sprawled out position on the floor. 

          “No,” Andrew shakes his head, and levers himself off the couch. The rush of blood and nausea and  _ dizzy _ almost sends him to the floor, but he points a knife at anyone who attempts to grab him. 

          “You need a hospital!” Nicky cries, his fingers twisting together and pressing hard against his chest like he’s forcing himself from reaching out to Andrew. “Andrew, please!”

          “I don’t like that word,” Andrew reminds Nicky for the nth time. “Don’t use it.”

          Kevin steps forwards, opening his mouth to argue, but Andrew presses his wet hand across Kevin’s mouth, smearing blood onto his parted lips and chin. 

          “I need a drink,” Andrew laughs for a few moments before getting quiet and faux-whispering, meeting Kevin’s horrified eyes. “Take me to the hospital, and I’ll cut my own throat.” 

          “Two bottles of Johnnie Walker Blue if you let Abby take care of that,” Coach’s voice cuts through the static of his teammates panic, and Andrew’s smile takes on a wicked edge. 

          “Three,” Andrew tells him, wiping the knife on Kevin’s shirt and flipping it around to slide into his sheathes, and Coach nods. 

          “Three,” Coach agrees. “Medical room, now.” Andrew pulls his hand away from Kevin’s mouth and walks around him, focusing on the pain in his leg because it’s the only thing he can feel that is real. 

          “Better luck next time, Day.” Andrew snickers, and follows Coach out of the room. 

          Abby spends a long time lecturing Andrew about his actions, while stitching the wound and shaking her head. 

          “You’re lucky it was a clean cut,” Abby starts, but Andrew cuts her off. 

          “Luck has never been my forte, Abby, or have you forgotten?” Andrew starts giggling, and Abby gets that look on her face like Andrew she knows exactly what he means, that she is remembering the neat lines of scars up and down his arms, and shivers.

          She had begged to know what happened, tried so hard to get him to talk to her, but he only laughed, just like now.

          “Why did you do it?” Coach asks, breaking his long silence. 

          “Jiggling was pissing Aaron off,” Andrew shrugs, swiping his thumb along the curve of his drug-fueled smile. Even now, his legs were bouncing, albeit less than before.

          “So stabbing yourself was the logical conclusion you came to?” 

          “Couldn’t stop otherwise.” He taps his fingers against his uninjured thigh, buzz still pulsing through him, and laughs. Wymack blinks a few times, his face going hard.

          “Couldn’t?”

          “Couldn’t. Can’t. Don’t give me that look, Coach, this shouldn’t surprise you anymore.”

          “Sometimes I think those pills do more harm than good,” Abby mutters, pressing down on Andrew’s jittery leg to try and hold it still long enough to finish the stitches. 

          Andrew is too busy laughing to tell her how right she is.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://sporadichearttcollector.tumblr.com/)   
> 


End file.
